Ennui.

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Frost really took hold of the fields last night and they looked spooky but smart this morning. With a cold shower taken in a cold bathroom behind me, I took a walk among the trees down to the duck pond: it’s just water lying in a hollow, nothing fancy, water where ducks like to go. There were purple crocuses everywhere and steam rising off the water. Back in the kitchen coffee was brewing on top of the wood stove and everywhere smelled of last night’s cigarettes. Max had already cycled into the village and was back with bread and newspapers - apparently somebody is destabilising the world with his unpredictable antics, something I had not known in the absence of TV and the internet. But I could have guessed. Stretching out ahead of me is another lazy day of books and solitary walks while Max chops wood for the fire and Natalie brings in bunches of fragrant daffodils to arrange in vases. They seem to do little else. People are arriving for dinner later and they don’t sound very pleasant - the kind of people who might appear as a family on utterly silly reality TV shows. Perhaps I’ll feign sickness and excuse myself after the eating has been done.